


print our hands in the pavement

by irwah



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: College AU, M/M, artist!ash, graphic designer!michael, it's just dorky fluff really im sorry, literally everything i dream of happening to me whenever im in the library, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks but nothing major
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-14
Updated: 2016-06-14
Packaged: 2018-07-14 22:44:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7193933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irwah/pseuds/irwah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m a traditional painter who has to take a basic Photoshop class, you’re a graphic design major sitting next to me and getting sucked into helping me out because I’m so shitty at this” AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	print our hands in the pavement

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this AU in a masterpost during exam time and had to force myself to not write it until i was finished...so here i am, free and celebrating summer by posting fic yay
> 
> just a PSA to non english readers - a 2:1 is a good university grade that most people strive for and a first is reaaally good grade that's reserved for clever clogs (and students who revise instead of write fic lol rip)
> 
> title from vapo(u)r

It’s nearing eleven thirty on a Wednesday night, around the time hoards of students are leaving campus, bundling onto the night bus with questionably made mixers in hand, headed into town for a night full of drunken fun.

But not Ashton. He’s doing quite the opposite, walking up the library steps, portfolio in hand. He’s taking a quick trip to print out his final project before he puts it into his professor’s pigeon hole and then goes home to sleep for a billion years. As much as he yearns for the fun and recklessness of first year, he’s quite happily slipped into the boring grown up ways of getting into bed with a cup of green tea and watching Netflix. He’s hoping Calum’s decided to stay in too so they can finally watch the last episode of How To Get Away With Murder that Ashton’s made them wait all week for. This damn project is killing him.

He swiftly scans his library card and walks into the library, nodding at Ashley, the girl who works on the front desk during night shifts and has a soft spot for him, always letting him sneak in coffee and snacks despite the strict “no eating” policy the university stands by.

“I’ll come say hi in a bit.” He whispers, nodding at the folder in his arm and rolling his eyes. She nods and smiles, inspecting the nails she’s (definitely not allowed to be) painting underneath the desk.

Ashton rounds the corner and keeps walking, the rhythmic thud of his converse on the carpet the only sound he can hear in the near deserted library. He heads to his normal computer, at the far side of the large building. Here it’s secluded enough that he can work in peace but not as eerily quiet as the silent section, where he often finds himself constantly being given evils for so much as rustling a piece of paper.

He sighs as he logs in to the computer and notices the time, he really wanted to be done by midnight so that he’d manage to get a decent seven hours’ sleep before going to his nine am class tomorrow, but that’s looking less and less likely. He’ll probably just skip it and have to borrow someone’s notes. His body is exhausted from a long term of deadlines and a quite frankly unfair number of nine o’clock lectures.

He can almost taste the freedom as he opens Photoshop, knowing that this is his last assignment for the gross graphic design class his stupid “diverse and interesting” arts degree was forcing him to take. He was an old fashioned artist, a good old pen-to-paper kinda guy and if he wanted to draw on a fucking computer he’d have taken a degree in graphic design, damnit.

Not wanting to get pent up about the same thing yet again, Ashton takes a deep breath and looks around, curious as to whether anyone else from his class is making last minute adjustments to their project. He doesn’t see anyone he recognises, just a blonde guy who’s stretched out across one of the sofas, hands behind his head as he sleeps blissfully on a stack of library books, the word ‘economics’ printed across the covers. He frowns slightly, wondering if the boy should be cramming for an exam instead of passed out in the library.

“Osmosis.” A voice from in front of him says, and Ashton frowns, head spinning quickly to locate the source. The owner of the voice is sitting on the computer opposite him, their screens back to back, and _fuck,_ he’s beautiful. His skin is pale, nearly translucent in the harsh lights of the library and his colourful hair isn’t doing much to stop Ashton thinking he must be like, an ethereal god or something.

The strands of hair are a mixture of purples and blues, tinges of pink and grey at the ends and Ashton wants to capture the colour and put it in his painting palette, use it on every painting from now on. He has to refrain from reaching out and touching it. Instead his eyes wander over the rest of the stranger’s face, taking note of the piercing in his raised eyebrow as he inspects the blonde boy on the sofa, a smirk playing on his lips.

Ashton’s confused face must amuse the stranger as he throws his head back, a laugh falling from his red lips and Ashton is mesmerised by the sound. The boy’s hands come up to his hair, dragging it to the side self-consciously before messing it up and letting it fall to exactly where it was before, one strand landing in front of his eyes. Ashton’s hands curl into fists at his sides to resist the temptation to lean over and brush it away.

“He calls it ‘learning by osmosis’…I call it being a lazy fuck who sweet talks his way out of every bad grade he’s even been given.”

The stranger rolls his eyes and Ashton forces himself to breathe, eyes falling back to his computer screen which has _finally_ opened Photoshop. Right. Photoshop, his project, getting it finished before midnight. No beautiful strangers in the library distracting him.

He laughs politely, “Oh, god I hate people who manage to do that…” The stranger huffs out a laugh and Ashton has to bite his lip to stop himself like, fucking proposing or something. “Anyway, I better get back to this.” He gestures to the computer, a deflated sigh falling from his lips and the boy nods, eyes reverting back to his screen too.

Ashton shakes his head internally and focuses on the task at hand, admiring the painting on his screen, pretty impressed with how it has turned out despite his aversion to technology. It’s gonna be a pretty good addition to his portfolio and he’s hoping for a high 2:1, maybe this will even pull it up to a first!

He opens the forum for the class, double checking he’d done all the necessary requirements such as resizing the canvas to the university’s regulations and suddenly remembers he hasn’t put his trademark signature in the bottom right hand corner. He’s pretty sure he can remember how to do it, knows he has to click the ‘insert new layer’ button and find his signature that’s already saved on the computer.

He clicks the button but nothing happens, so he rolls his eyes at the slow library computers and clicks again, yawning at how slow it’s being and how near the end he is. Again, nothing happens. He clicks a third time and the entire screen freezes. Fuck.

Deep breaths, it’s okay, he’s dealt with this before, just control alt delete, restart the programme, open the file he’s been working on for three weeks and be more patient. He chants these instructions in is head, pushing away the waves of anxiety threatening to force their way into his head, flooding all rational thoughts.

After a split second the programme closes and he takes a breath, opening the file on his desktop labelled ‘final final fucking final piece’. Better make sure he changes that before handing in the online version…

A dialogue box that he’s never seen pops up.

ERROR. FILE CORRUPTED IN PROGRAMME CRASH. PLEASE REOPEN A PREVIOUS VERSION.

And of course, the programme is right, any sane person would have saved multiple versions of the file, have it backed up on various memory sticks and his laptop considering its eighty percent of his final grade. But, of course, Ashton isn’t a sane person, he’s just a fucking idiot who is apparently trying to ruin his own life.

He loudly whispers a “ _fuck”_ as he continues trying to open the file, the same message appearing each time, the colourful box mocking him at his stupidity. His breathing speeds up as the situation dawns on him.

He’s lost it. Lost his piece of work that he’d spent weeks on, hours in the library near sobbing into the keyboard as each individual layer and tone of the “paintbrush” didn’t quite match the vision he’d seen in his head.

Art was at times frustrating, but at least when it was actual paint he could just add a little more of one colour or another. Working on a computer changed absolutely everything and this one module made Ashton so much more respectful of graphic designers when he realised how long each piece must take.

And now he’s gone and fucked it all up and will probably fail his module. So much for a fucking first.

Ashton didn’t even realised he was hyperventilating until a voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Dude, are you okay?”

Michael had heard the loud ‘fuck’ a few seconds ago but just brushed it off, it was fairly standard to hear various expletives in the library at this time of night, particularly during deadline season. However he then noticed laboured breathing and potential sobs from the beautiful boy with the tortoise shell glasses and honey curls and he absolutely had to say something. And that fact had absolutely nothing to do with the beauty of the boy. Promise.

The stranger looked surprised at Michael’s question, as if he didn’t deserve to be asked about his well-being. Michael can’t help but think the boy deserves a lot more than just that.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.”

Michael raises his eyebrow.

“Okay, _fine_ , I’m literally thirty seconds away from a breakdown.” He sighs dramatically and Michael notices the frown lines on his forehead, wanting nothing more than to smooth the lines away with his thumbs and kiss the pout off of the stranger’s face. “This fucking assignment is due at nine am and I’ve been working on it for weeks and the fucking computer just crashed and it’s saying some kind of error?! What the fuck am I going to do, there’s no way I’ll be able to do it all before the deadline and I’m gonna fucking fail all because computers fucking _hate_ me and I never even fucking wanted to take graphic design? I’m a fucking painter not a fucking photoshop artist and holy shit I promise I never swear this much I’m sorry but I’m bordering on a panic attack…”

His voice cracks on the last word and Michael’s heart flies out to him.

“Bro, you gotta calm down.”

The stranger takes in a breath but it sounds like a sob and Michael stops holding back.

“Okay, okay, c’mon man, take some deep breaths for me, that’s it. In, two, three, out, two three.”

Miraculously, it works and when Ashton opens his eyes, they meet the strangers’ and holy fuck. If Ashton thought his hair resembled the galaxy, nothing compared to his eyes. Greens merging into browns and a hint of grey, glinting when he sees Ashton smiling at him.

Ashton turns his head and notices the hand on his shoulder, looking between it and the boy dumbly.

“Oh shit, sorry.” The stranger removes his hand and blushes, making Ashton smile harder. “When I’m really anxious I seek physical attention and I forget that not everyone digs that.”

Ashton nods, warm smile suggesting he didn’t mind. His breathing is evening out and he can feel the anxiety oozing out of his brain, clearing up the fog. It normally takes much longer for the feeling to disappear and he’s so grateful for the stranger. Ashton opens his mouth to ask about the other boy’s anxiety but he is already busy eyeing the computer screen warily.

“So I believe somewhere in that internal monologue, you mentioned something about graphic design?”

Ashton sighs again, remembering the life ruining problem that the beautiful boy had distracted him from.

“Yeah, who the _fuck_ even takes graphic design?! It must be full of nerds.”

The boy laughs and Ashton wants to record it on his phone, set it as his ringtone or something. He then realises that would be pretty creepy.

“I’m Michael,” the boy responds, holding his hand out formally and Ashton is a little confused. “Gaming addict, graphic design major and full time nerd.”

“Oh.” Ashton feels his face heat up as he reaches for the outstretched hand. “Shit I’m sor-” he begins but Michael cuts him off.

“Don’t worry about it, I’m kinda used to it. But you should probably stop insulting me if you want help with this project…”

He’s smirking at Ashton and the curly haired boy realises he’s being mocked. “Let me guess…you’re one of those hipster art students that _lives_ for watercolours and pastels and hates anything that has any element of twenty first century life? You probably have an old film camera too…”

Ashton bursts out laughing, grateful that the library is pretty much empty and he isn’t met with the normal sighs and evil glares.

“Ashton,” He smiles. “Traditional art student, total hipster but actually I fucking hate watercolours.”

Michael smiles back and sits down on the stool next to him. “Well, would you look at us – the perfect start to a cliché indie romance film.”

Ashton blushes bright red as his eyes focus on his hand on the computer mouse, away from Michael’s beautiful eyes.

“Are you really gonna help me? Don’t you have your own work to do?” He says in a small voice, risking a glimpse up at Michael’s face.

“Sure! And nah, I was just fucking around on a project that isn’t due until next week, don’t worry about it.” He leans over to squint at the writing on the paper in front of Ashton – a checklist of learning objectives for using Photoshop. “Let’s see...layers, sharpening, colour palettes and texture. Sure, I reckon we’ll get that done in no time. Now what was the base for your drawing?”

He leans back as he asks the question, eyes searching Ashton’s face in excitement. However the boy in question just cringes further.

“It was, umm…” Michael smirks for the hundredth time but Ashton can’t even try to hate him for his cockiness, something about it is so goddamn attractive.

“Don’t tell me it was a nude…”

Ashton blushes further.

“You totally painted a naked lady, didn’t you?!”

Ashton huffs, straightening his back to regain his dignity a little. “ _Actually,_ we don’t call them ‘naked ladies’ in art, we call them ‘life models’. And besides, I wasn’t painting a lady…”

Michael’s eyebrows rise higher on his face as Ashton reluctantly pulls out the photograph his project was based on. The man is stood regally, one hand in his hair and the other hanging loosely by his side. His abs are defined in the soft lighting of the studio and his cock is hanging discretely between his sculpted legs.

“Shit, he’s hot.” Michael breathes out, leaning closer to take the photo out of Ashton’s hands.

“Tell me about it, he models for us a lot and I’ve had to have serious words with my boner after class on various occasions.”

Michael giggles and Ashton can’t help the warm feeling of pride in his chest that _he_ made that sound come out of his mouth. He briefly wonders what other sounds he could coax out of Michael’s mouth but shuts the thought down quickly, wondering if he’ll have to have a word with his dick after this occasion too.

“So you’re…”

“Gay? Yeah.” Ashton laughs at the relieved smile on Michael’s face.

“Thank fuck, my gaydar is sometimes not great and I was worried I’d completely misread you.”

Ashton smiles, “Don’t worry, my housemate is always teasing me for how shit mine is…It’s not my fault everyone in this city dresses so well, it’s hard to tell!”

He’s rewarded with that beautiful giggle again as Michael returns the photo to him.

“Anyway, we should probably get on…I reckon if you can vaguely remember how you wanted the drawing done, I’ll be able to match your words to a paintbrush function and direct you which to use?”

Ashton nods, wanting to kiss Michael for how seriously he’s taking this, but also for other reasons, too.

The two boys work well together, gradually constructing a graphic representation of the photo which looks pretty damn similar to the one Ashton lost, if not even better. At some point, Michael pulls out a pack of smarties and they halve them, along with a headphone each. They fall into rhythm so easily, pointing out different colours and size of paintbrushes to each other and combining both ideas to create a near perfect result.

Finding a suitable soundtrack, however, is not so easy. They soon discover a similar taste in bands, and Ashton smiles in pride at the familiar album names as he flicks through Michael’s phone. However the problem is, Ashton _always_ listens to classical music when he draws. There’s something about the flow of the piano that encourages the flow of his pencil, the soft sounds of the string instruments helps him fill in colour.

Unfortunately, Michael’s music taste is a little more…modern. Which means awful washing machine music with a bass line that makes Ashton’s heart jump, even through the little apple headphones they’re using. After bickering for a short while (and some gentle pushing), they manage to compromise on Ed Sheeran, although Michael insists on skipping any songs that are too “slow and boring” aka Ashton’s favourites.

The curly haired boy is in awe of how Michael works, gnawing on his lip lightly and eyebrows drawn together in deep thought. His face lights up whenever Ashton suggests an idea, even when it’s pretty crap and if that’s not motivation for Ashton to be more productive, then what is?

Around two o’clock, Ashton checks his phone for the first time in a while, shocked at the time and also the string of messages from Calum, who is normally a very brief texter. (Often, so brief Ashton misses what he’s trying to say.) The messages mostly consist of sad faces complaining that Ashton has stayed so late at the library and then questionably spelt insults about how he’s left Calum to club alone, despite the fact Ashton knows he’s out with the football team and probably surrounded by lads (and girls) this minute.

The purple haired boy’s eyes are beginning to close and Ashton feels immensely guilty.

“Hey, Michael,” he says gently, nudging his shoulder. “Can I get you a coffee? The café is definitely shut but the vending machine ones aren’t too bad.”

His nose scrunches up in disgust. “I fucking hate coffee, man. It’s definitely a conspiracy that anyone likes that taste of it.”

Ashton laughs. “A conspiracy? What like the moon landing? The Truman Show? We’re all in on some agreement to pretend to like it just to fool you?!”

“Exactly. Fucking disgusting. Anyway, if you make it a hot chocolate I’ll show you how to brighten the picture with making it look too bright…”

“Okay, deal.”

“Add an extra sugar and I’ll let you listen to fucking Beethoven for a bit too.” He has the audacity to wink at Ashton.

The older boy hurries away, mostly to stop himself from making some corny joke about how Michael is sweet enough already.

When he returns, a drink in each hand and a bag of popcorn precariously carried between his teeth, Michael is gaping at him.

“How the hell did you get that past Cerberus on the door?”

Ashton opens his mouth and laughs, the popcorn falling straight into Michael’s hands.

“Let’s just say I have friends in high places. Also Cerberus? You sure know your Greek mythology, I’m impressed.”

Michael scoffs. “Please, just because I’m a computer geek doesn’t mean I don’t enjoy literature and culture – those stories are fucking _awesome,_ some of them are more gruesome than any video game I’ve heard of…”

Ashton laughs fondly and passes him his drink, returning to his seat, although this time his chair is slightly closer to Michael’s, their shoulders brushing slightly as they lean forward to drink.

“Hey, Mike,” he says, and wow, since when is it acceptable to start calling a near stranger by a nickname. Soon he’ll be blurting out endearments such as ‘babe’ and ‘love’. His head spins at the thought.

“Yeah, Ash.” He says, mocking Ashton’s voice, eyes glinting.

“I never actually thanked you.”

“Look, I told you it’s fine, I love all this nerdy stuff and add some art and a naked dude and I’m there!” He laughs at his own joke and Ashton wants to punch himself for how cute he finds it.

“No but also for like, the panic attack thing. No-one ever gets it, it sometimes feels like even my family and friends roll their eyes behind my back. It’s shit but people invalidate it all the time and it means a lot that you didn’t do that.”

Before he knows what he’s doing, Michael’s arms are wrapped around Ashton’s shoulders, pulling him in softly for a hug. The weirdest thing is that it’s not weird, hugging a near stranger, and both boys relax into it.

“Dude, don’t turn all gay on me.” Michael says and Ashton hides his laugh against the other boy’s shoulder. “Honestly, it’s cool. I get what you mean, like people try to understand and sympathise with what you’re going through but I guess you never really get it until you’ve experienced it.” Ashton nods slightly, his hair tickling Michael’s chin that has somehow found itself resting on his head. “I’m pleased I could help. But seriously, if we sit like this much longer, I’ll probably fall asleep. You’re pretty comfy…”

He leans a fair amount of his weight onto Ashton and the boy beneath him holds back a shriek, wriggling until he’s wormed his way out of Michael’s grasp.

“Hey,” He says sternly, pushing his glasses back up his nose. “I didn’t buy you shitty vending machine hot chocolate for free, y’know. You owe me some snazzy Photoshop tricks!”

They settle back down into the previous position of working intently and occasionally stopping to admire their work and check the blonde behind them is still breathing. The library is pretty much empty by the time three thirty rolls around and both boys are satisfied with their creation. Michael watches carefully as he insists that Ashton saves at least four different copies of the work, on both memory stick, google docs and his desktop.

“I’m not like, a kid, you know. You don’t have to check I’ve remembered to write my name on every- shit! I haven’t written my name or candidate number on the form!”

Michael smirks as he walks to the printer to collect the finished piece. It looks fucking incredible and although he helped with the technicalities, it’s entirely Ashton’s work and he feels really proud of the other boy, despite the fact he was a stranger a few hours ago.

Ashton comes over and takes it from him, eyes critically scanning the paper. “We did good.” He grins and Michael nods in agreement, bending down to grab his bag. Ashton puts the final piece in the back of his portfolio as he says “I just need to go put this in Feldman’s pigeonhole and then I can sleep for a billion years. Thank you, so so much.”

Michael beams at him. “You’re welcome, really. You’re very talented.” Ashton blushes but then glimpses at his watch and notices the time.

“Fuck, it’s so late!”

“Guess I should probably wake Luke up and grab us some takeaway on the way home.” He gestures to the blonde who is now on his front, dribbling into his textbook.

“God, tell me about it, I’m starving.” Ashton says, rubbing his stomach as if to support his point. “I wish the bar out the front was open – they cook a mean fry up. I would’ve loved to take you there for breakfast to say thanks.”

There’s a long pause and Ashton immediately regrets saying it. Michael was just being nice because he was helping him, there was no reason to think this would go any further than just that? Ashton looks down at his shoes, scuffing the tips of his converse together when he feels fingers on his chin, lifting his gaze up to meet emerald eyes.

“I’ve heard their dinner is pretty good, too….”

“Yeah?” Ashton squeaks, his face lighting up with a smile.

“Yeah. How’s seven thirty?”

“Sounds perfect. Just enough time to sleep all day.” He beams, face turning pink when Michael leans in and kisses his cheek gently. His face lingers next to Ashton’s for a moment, breath hitting his skin.

“It’s a date.”

Xx

Michael wakes up to the sound of typing, the light coming through the curtains suggesting it’s still pretty early. He rolls over curiously, ready to grump at his boyfriend for being on his laptop at this disgusting time when he sees it’s the university website Ashton is browsing. He suddenly remembers what day it is and why Ashton had suggested they sleep slightly earlier last night (to which Michael sulked that he’d get himself off instead).

“Hey, how’d your module choices go?” He croaks, making Ashton jump slightly at the sound.

His boyfriend smiles softly down at him, one hand leaving the keyboard to run his fingers through Michael’s now red hair.

“Morning, sorry for waking you.”

“S’okay.” Michael mumbles, his words squished against Ashton’s bare chest as he cuddles up to him, eyes squinting slightly at the brightness of the screen.

“I got all the modules I wanted!” Ashton beams, voice far too happy and energetic for this time in the morning. Michael frowns slightly as he reads the list on the page in front of him.

“Digital Illustration?” He reads, voice squeaking slightly with surprise. “You hate anything to do with art and computers. Isn’t it ruining the sanctity of creativity or something?”

Michael frowns slightly as he looks up at his boyfriend and Ashton wants to kiss the pout off of his lips, so he does.

“It’s actually one of the compulsory modules for Graphic Design next year so I figured we’d be together for lectures. Maybe I’ll actually encourage you to go to some this semester…”

Michael smiles at the sweet thought behind his boyfriend’s words, despite the slight dig. “That’s kinda cute and also gross, maybe we should sit away from each other in class?” He teases. “But serious, Ash, I thought you struggled with it all and hated it this semester? I’m pretty sure you’ve declared war on Photoshop multiple times?!”

“I did, but I figured this year I’ll have a pretty hot boyfriend who can help me with my projects in return for sexual favours…”

This gets Michael’s attention. He pushes the laptop off of Ashton’s stomach before leaning closer to him, both hands falling to either side of his boyfriend’s head.

“Oh, really? I think that could work.”

Ashton leans up and kisses him, hands falling to Michael’s arse as the redhead straddles him. Michael pulls away from the kiss, prompting a delicious moan from the other boy.

“I heard he takes early payments.”

**Author's Note:**

> hope you liked itttttt
> 
> feedback and general friendship is always welcome on my tumblr [cashtontrash](http://cashtontrash.tumblr.com) and also u can reblog this post [here](http://cashtontrash.tumblr.com/post/145884368012/print-our-hands-in-the-pavement-by-irwah-on-ao3) if you'd like
> 
> lots of love,  
> D xxx


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